


dinner at seven

by starlightment



Series: Gift Fics [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Anniversary, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cute, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Gay Keith (Voltron), Idiots in Love, M/M, Post Season 8, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 14:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18181994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightment/pseuds/starlightment
Summary: Just when they thought they already knew everything about each other, Keith throws Lance through a loop on their one year anniversary.





	dinner at seven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milliegirl20](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=milliegirl20).



> Written for @milliegirl20 <3

**_. . ._ **

 

 _Dinner tonight at 7_ , reads the text message lighting up Lance’s phone screen. It’s straightforward enough, really. Abysmally sparse, maybe, even by Keith’s standards. And yet, Lance can’t stop _looking_ at it.

And _looking_ at it, and _looking_ at it —

As if he’s waiting for the magical moment when the letters are going to leap right off the screen and rearrange themselves into something different. A secret code. An underlying translation. A hidden clue to be deciphered or unearthed like the rarest of treasures.

All of that. Right there. In a four-word text message. He can feel it in his gut, churning and heavy like the swell of a tide. 

“Dinner tonight… at seven…” Lance repeats — curiously, contemplatively — for what is easily the billionth time today. 

Hunk and Pidge share a sideways glance.

“Pidge, you’re the genius here,” he says. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“According to my calculations,” she begins, slowly, totally deadpan, “I think it means you two will be having dinner tonight.” Then, after a pause: “ _At seven_.”

Lance blinks, but remains stubbornly undeterred. 

“Okay, but _then_ —” he barrels on, and jabs an enthusiastic finger into the air. “— _then_ he sent a heart emoji — y’know, that pink sparkly one — so where d’you think he’s going with _that_?”

Pidge heaves a noisy sigh, telling him, “That you two are stupidly, disgustingly in love. Which, by the way, everybody already knows.”

“Yeah,” agrees Hunk, “even _waaaay_ before you and Keith figured it out.” 

Miserably, Lance slithers down into his seat, body going limp and boneless as he whines, “You guys aren’t helping.”

“What’s going on, buddy?” Hunk asks. “It’s just dinner.”

“But it’s our _anniversary_ dinner, dude. One whole year. I’m talkin’ the first major milestone here, you feel me?”

“Isn’t that — a good thing?”

“It’s a great thing!” Lance bursts out at once. “An _amazing_ thing. But it’s just… _big_ ,” and then he’s eyeing his friends, gaze suddenly suspicious and bouncing between the two of them. “You _know_ he’s got something huge lined up.” 

“You say that like Keith actually _talks_ to us about his plans,” says Pidge. She considers her own words for a brief moment before amending, “Or like, actually _makes_ plans, _ever_.”

Lance’s entire face crumbles into a pout. “I just wanna know where he’s taking me!”

“Guess you’ll find out tonight at seven, huh?”

“What if it’s nice? Like… _nice_ nice. Like —” And then he, genuinely, tries not to gasp. “—the kinda place where you have to _taste_ the wine before you order it, and use more than one spoon.”

“Wow,” drawls Pidge. “Dream big.”

Hunk’s eyes find him, all soft and brown and brimming with sincerity. “Well, wherever you guys end up going, I bet it’ll be really special.” 

Lance just wiggles impatiently, and steals another glance at his phone screen.

The words still haven’t changed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A few minutes past six-fifteen, Lance invites himself into Keith’s apartment with a small bouquet of roses, all bright-eyed and impeccably groomed.

“Honey, I’m home!” he trills cheerfully, swinging the door shut behind him with a gentle _whoosh_.

Then —

The response he hears is quite strange: clanging in the kitchen, something tinny and metallic, maybe. A muffled hiss that sounds an awful lot like _“fucking hell”_ , and then footsteps, stomping around in a frenzy, until Keith appears in the hallway, looking more than a little perturbed. 

Lance frowns immediately. “What are you wearing?”

Startled, Keith glances down at his plain black t-shirt and his very-flattering-but-still-very-plain jeans. Then he’s looking up, still perturbed, flinging back, “What are _you_ wearing?”

Lance huffs, right there, in his nice, crisp button-down shirt and a nice pair of trousers that they both know are reserved for special occasions. “It’s date night!” he says, waving the roses out in front of him.

“I told you to come at seven.”

“So we show up a little early for our reservation, and go grab a drink at the bar until our table’s ready,” Lance shrugs. “What’s the big deal?”

“That’s —” Keith tries to say, but then a shrill dinging noise from the kitchen distracts him. “Just — go wait in the other room.”

“You can’t just order me around on our anniversary!”

“ _Go_ ,” Keith orders him, and then disappears.

Lance does not go.

He follows him into the kitchen, which, in its current state, can best be described as a war zone — and this is coming from the guy who literally fought in an _actual_ war. The sink is piled high with all sorts of dirtied pots and utensils. The countertop is littered with spills, and messes, cracked egg shells, and a thin layer of something white and powdery. And then, to top it all off — the _real_ kicker — there’s Keith standing by the stove, stirring something around quite vigorously in a sauce pan.

Quietly, Lance steps up behind him, and peers over Keith’s shoulder for a moment before saying, right into his ear, “Is this a prank?”

Keith jumps away, and his wooden spoon clatters to the floor. “Lance —”

“No, seriously. I’m asking. Am I being pranked right now?”

“I told you to go wait —”

“‘Cause I’m impressed. I mean, this is some high-production value right here —”

“Lance, I am _actually_ begging you —”

“You have egg shells laying around and everything!”

“— _Get out!”_

Lance, sulkily and begrudgingly, gets out.

But as he woefully wanders away, he notices that the other room, too, seems to be in a state of disorder. And not the usual Keith kind of disorder — the kind that sends Lance flitting around the apartment, fluffing pillows, and hanging up jackets that Keith leaves strewn over the back of the couch. Now, the lights have been dimmed, and the furniture has been pushed aside, leaving plenty of space in the middle of the room for a large blanket to lay across the floor, surrounded by piles of pillows and two wine glasses.

Lance stares at the nest, and then slowly registers the warm, delectable aroma wafting out of the kitchen, and —

 _Oh_ , he thinks, feeling overwhelmed, and very, very silly.

Keith walks in with two plates, a heaping bowl of pasta, and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. His expression has been smoothed out, but there’s something unsure — maybe even _nervous_ — sitting behind his eyes. “You can sit if you want,” he tells him.

Lance sits.

He leans against one of the pillows, runs his palm over the soft knit of the blanket, and watches as Keith bends down to join him. He distributes the plates, and the silverware, and fills their wine glasses with an adorable sort of diligence that kind of makes Lance want to laugh, or cry, or pounce on him right here and now. Instead, he ends up saying, a bit breathlessly, “But… you can’t cook.”

Keith offers him a plate, and about half of a smile, and replies, “Eat.”

Lance eats. He takes a bite, chews, stops. And then chews and chews and chews —

“Oh my god,” he says, mouth full and eyes wide. “You _can_ cook.” 

At that, Keith chuckles, and ducks his head a bit.

“How come I didn’t know that?”

“Never came up, I guess,” Keith answers with a shrug. And then, brow pinched, “But look, if you really wanna go somewhere —”

“No,” Lance says quickly — so quickly that it has Keith lifting his gaze, blinking curiously. “I love this. I love _you_.”

The other half of Keith’s smile appears, soft and hazy over his features, and Lance thinks about grabbing him and kissing it off his lips until they’re both dizzy from it.

“I love everything about you,” Lance goes on, crawling across the blanket until he’s kneeling at Keith’s side. “I love how talented you are. I love how _secretly romantic_ you are.”

Their hands find one another — as they always seem to do — fingers lacing into place.

“And I love how, even after an entire year together, you still find ways to surprise me,” Lance all but whispers while moving his other hand to the curve of Keith’s cheek, warm beneath his touch. “Never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.”

Keith turns his face ever slight, just enough to drag his lips along the inside of Lance’s wrist, brushing against his lifeline. “Never will be,” he whispers back. “I promise.”

And Lance’s heart promptly skips a beat or five, stuttering inside his chest like a hummingbird’s wings. “Y’know, not that this meal isn’t crazy delicious,” he begins, somehow, without his voice cracking or dwindling away into nothing, “but I’m kinda feeling like I wanna get all up on you and just, like — _go at it_.”

Keith raises a single brow at him. “Well, I _was_ gonna save that for dessert, but —”

Then the eager press of Lance’s lips aches against his own, and shuts him right up.

**Author's Note:**

> [TUMBLR](http://starlightments.tumblr.com/)   
>  [TWITTER](http://twitter.com/starlightment)


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